


Bond Of Suffering

by questi



Category: The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Alpha Steve Rogers, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Asshole Torture, Belts, Blow Jobs, Brutal, Cock & Ball Torture, Creepy Brock Rumlow, Crying, Deepthroating, Everything Hurts, Humiliation, Hurt, Impact Play, Knotting, Like Whoa, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Nipple Torture, Non-Consensual, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Consensual Spanking, Omega Tony Stark, Omega Verse, Oral Knotting, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Overstimulation, PAINFUL SEX!, Painful Sex, Porn With Plot, Punishment, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rimming, Sadism, Steve's sadistic tendencies, abrasion play, clothespins, crawling, he gives in to them slowly, or what amounts to both due to sex being painful for omegas, probably disturbing, punitive spanking, references to various sadistic fantasies, rubbing against furniture, ruined orgasm, sex is painful for omegas, totally inadequate attempts at comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-20
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-07 10:04:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13432404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/questi/pseuds/questi
Summary: For omegas, sex outside of heat is painful. That's why they take pain suppressants.Steve and Tony are about to enter a bond of convenience, but it needs to be consummated.Rumlow slips Tony fake pain suppressants. They won't manage the pain - quite the opposite, actually, they enhance it. Rumlow also tells Tony Steve is probably a sadist.He tells Steve Tony is addicted to painkillers, and if he asks for more, he shouldn't be given any. For his own good. He also tells Steve Tony really likes pain.The result is the most painful fuck of Tony's life. Betrayed by his body, he can't help but enjoy it - in a way.This is not a nice fic. MIND THE WARNING & TAGS.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There is a long ass exposition of more than 1k words. If you want to skip right to the porn, feel free to scroll down. I explained the basics of what happens in the summary, but I wanted to elaborate on it. It's still just a setup for awful badwrong porn, though. 
> 
> This is not a nice fic. Mind the tags, esp. the painful sex one. If it's not your cuppa, don't read it. It's porny, but it's pretty much all about pain in this chapter. Also, as you might imagine, Tony doesn't get to have a lot of fun. I love the guy, but I also love putting him through all kinds of torments. 
> 
> In this one, Steve isn't exactly aware what he is doing, but he _is_ a bit of a sadist and he gets off on it. 
> 
> Be warned that this has no happy ending. No one dies, but nothing is really resolved either. I'm not in for writing a full story, just the porn that goes with it. What I'm trying to say is, don't expect a happy, romantic resolution here. Steve and Tony might reach a sexual understanding of sorts, in the end, due to necessity, but no romance. The non-con has happened, there is no real trust there, etc. No fluffy ending.

Steve pushes a finger in, and Tony cries out in pain. Steve scowls. But that comes later.

* * *

When omegas are not in heat, sex is very painful for them. Anal sex especially, but even having their genitals toyed with hurts. It's just another way nature has of fucking them over and punishing them for wanting to have fun outside of the act of procreation itself. It hurts. If you want it, you have to pay.

This is not to say there is no stimulation there, but for the most of them, the pain is too intense. Some do get off on it, but this is a small populace. This is the reason most of the omegas will either take pain suppressants whenever they have sex, or, if in a position to do so, they will not have sex outside of heat.

Needless to say, pain suppressants are prescription only.

As always, certain asshole alphas claim that sex is not as good with pain suppressants. They maintain they change the pheromones in some way, that it isn't natural etc. Some of them look for omegas that get off on pain, others train their omegas to like it or at least to pretend they like it.

There are always asshole alphas in the world. Steve Rogers is not one of them. Brock Rumlow, however, is, but he is hiding his preferences very well. 

"I've had him a few times, he's not a bad fuck at all," Rumlow tells Rogers as they walk side by side down a corridor in the S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ building.

Rogers scowls at him. "I'll ask you not to talk like that about Stark."

Rogers and Stark are entering a bond of convenience, due to some legal issues. There has been a constantly growing pressure on the organization to either quit consulting with Stark or to have him bonded. Having an unbonded omega on the payroll is scandalous for a government organization. The agreement has been made, and Stark and Rogers, who don't really see eye to eye and don't know each other well, agreed reluctantly. Rogers was thought to be a stabilizing influence and someone firm enough to take Stark in hand. What he got out of the deal exactly Rumlow doesn't know, apart from Stark's riches and Stark's sweet ass, not that it isn't worth tapping. 

Rumlow couldn't, however, let it happen. If Stark and Rogers actually became allies and learned how to work together, they could put a formidable dent in Hydra's plans. 

"Of course, of course," Rumlow tells Rogers, all buddy-buddy. "Sorry. But I feel obliged to tell you something, pal. He mewls quite a lot, but it's mostly an act. Don't fall for it "

Rogers looks at him with suspicion. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that he's got himself addicted to pain suppressants," Rumlow lies through his teeth. "You won't see it in his file..."

"Yeah, I didn't," Rogers interrupts.

"It's being kept on the hush. But he'll go through a month's supply in three or four days if no one stops him. Just a piece of friendly advice, but better administer those pills yourself after you start living together, if you want to bonk... sorry, to have sex with him at all. You don't want to get him even more hooked."

"I appreciate the info," Rogers says stiffly, but Rumlow can see he he's got him worried. The worm has been released. Part 1 of the plan: accomplished.

Rumlow thinks of something else to add, though. "So, if he starts begging for another pill, if he claims the previous ones don't work etcetera – you'll know what that's all about."

"But if he's addicted, they probably don't work as well for him," Rogers says, concerned now. He just had to be, didn't he?

Rumlow is irritated, but he knows better than to show it. 

"Yes, well," he says. "But if you keep enabling him, he'll never get off the drugs, will he?"

"True, I suppose." Rogers still doesn't seem quite convinced.

"Besides," Rumlow invents on the spot. "He loves a bit of pain." It's true for all omegas, after all, whether they know it or not. "He'll never admit that, because he loves the pills more, but he gets off on pain. Oh, how he gets off on it. The stories I could tell you..."

"Don't!" Rogers interrupts. But he considers it for a moment. "I suppose he had to learn to like pain if he goes through his pills so quickly."

The best lies are the ones the other person comes up with himself, Rumlow thinks.

"Yes, and you surely heard how much he, ehhh, gets around," he adds for good measure. Rogers leaves frowning. The seed of discord is sown.

* * *

"Rogers took charge of your pain suppressant prescription," Rumlow tells Stark. "He'll be in charge of administering the pills to you."

"Yeah, I heard. Weird guy, huh? Old fashioned, I guess." Stark says. 

"Very old fashioned, I hear," Rumlow tells him. "You know how it was, back in his time. There were no pain suppressants available. You just had to _take it_?" A certain sadistic pleasure must be leaking into his voice. Stark looks up at him abruptly from what he's doing and starts paying attention.

Stark has been tolerated this far because of his money, but now there is a public outcry. He has to either get bonded or stop working for S.H.I.E.L.D. and relinquish the control of Stark Industries to a government official, because he has no alpha or beta relatives who can run the company for him. It's obvious he doesn't have much choice and he knows it. He has to bond.

"You think that's what this is all about?" he asks. "Rogers actually wants to painfuck me?"

Brock smiles placatingly. "Hey, that's just something I heard."

Brock himself would tie Stark up and whip him bloody, and then he'd painfuck that ass until Stark drowned in his own tears, until he had no voice left to scream, but he has to uphold his mask. He'd offer to bond Stark himself and have his way with him as often as he wanted to, but Stark is too smart. He might find out something about Hydra. No matter. This is going to be good nevertheless. 

Stark is silent, but his eyes are wide. He shrugs it off, however, or tries to make it appear so. "In that case, I'll have to slit his throat in his sleep, eh?" He wants to sound joky. It doesn't really work.

"Maybe it's not like that," Rumlow says. This is even better. If Stark starts _confiding_ in him... "Maybe he just likes to have the control."

"Yeah," Stark says. He's not convinced, though. "Maybe."

"You got your regular two pills for today, though, don't you?" Brock asks. "You don't have to worry about it yet."

Tony pulls them out of his pocket. They are packed as standard issue, but Brock knows they are fake. They will have no effect whatsoever, at least when it comes to pain suppression. What they might do is turn the pain receptors a little more sensitive. Might intensify the experience for some. A devious invention, really, superb for interrogations. Brock knows all this because he's had them made himself and slipped them to Stark instead of his regular ones earlier in the day.

He's had someone bug Rogers' quarters too. Tonight, he's going to listen to the howls and it's going to be delicious. He's already getting hard at the thought.

Phase 2: done.

* * *

Steve is nervous when Stark walks in, but he tries not to show it. They pour wine and chat for ten or fifteen minutes. The talk limps along and eventually trails off. They stare at one another. 

Steve didn't think it would be like this when he finally bonded, but it is what it is. Stark gets to run his own company and to go on working for the agency. Steve gets to serve his country, and also to get the concerned S.H.I.E.L.D psychologist off his back. She's been officially recommending for Steve to bond for ages.

The ritual has been preformed, all the documents signed. Now just to consummate it and knot Stark, and the bond will be complete. 

"Shall we cut the crap and get to the point?" Stark says abruptly. Steve nods. "Want me to start you off with a blowy to get things going?" Steve nods again. He feels vaguely embarrassed, but the blunt words have him hardening instantly.

Stark is a wildly attractive man. By the time he takes off his jacket and gets on his knees before of Steve, Steve's cock is already straining against his fly. And Stark knows what he's doing, that much is obvious. He teases the head of Steve's cock with his tongue for a few moments. He looks up through those lashes as he sucks him slowly into his mouth, then, sloppily, lets him slip out. He's back at sucking lightly at just the head.

You surely heard how much he gets around, Steve hears Rumlow's voice ring in his head. Well, not any longer! Steve wants to end this teasing, grab that head and pull it onto his cock as far as it will go, but he knows that's just the instincts getting wild. He can control them. Jealousy always does this to him, but it's not just that. The thought of Stark sucking off others, the idea of him servicing who knows how many other agents makes Steve both enraged and insanely excited. He wonders what all Tony let them do to him, and if there are still things that _haven't_ been done to him, and if Steve could do them.

Maybe this bond won't be so bad after all.

Tony is taking him deeper now, sucking in earnest, but Steve's cock is not even halfway in. Steve puts a hand on his head, but casually. He resists the growing urge to pull Stark closer, to taste the deeper parts of his mouth. He closes his eyes and breaths, resisting, resisting.

All at once, Stark stops, lets Steve slide out of the warm wetness. "I'd say you're ready, huh? Want to get on to the real thing?"

Steve's fingers tighten in Stark's hair all on their own. Suppressing a growl, Steve looks down. He can't help tightening his fingers some more, pulling Stark's head back by the hair until Stark hisses.

"I have a... really short... refractory period." It's already a struggle to put things to words, but it'll probably get better after he gets off first time. He tries to act normal, but he hasn't been with an omega for a long time, and this one is all _his_. It's intoxicating.

Back on my cock, Steve wants to growl at him, but he restrains himself. It's just animalism. He doesn't want to be that kind of alpha.

Tony continues sucking willingly enough, though, without any more prompting, and Steve forces himself to release his hair.

* * *

For Tony, blowjobs are about testing the limits. When he's with an alpha, sucking him off is virtually the only time the power is in Tony's hands. Tony likes pushing it, seeing how much it will take a particular alpha to decide to take that power away.

Despite himself, that moment is nothing but intoxicating.

Rogers has been very controlled so far, but he's struggling. As he's getting closer to orgasm, both his hands find a way back into Tony's hair. They grab and twist and pull Tony closer his crotch. His hips are snapping forward, but then he remembers himself and tries to hold still. Overall, he's not rough, or at least he's trying not to be. This might not be so bad, after all.

Tony can't not test him, however.

He has no problem with swallowing cum, but Rogers can't know that. Some people do, after all. Therefore, Tony makes as if to pull back, as if to shove Rogers' hips away.

Rogers grabs Tony by the head and pulls him all the way onto his cock.

Tony's never felt anything quite like that vice-like grip. It's as if his own strength is nullified. Struggling means nothing. Rogers doesn't even have to strain to keep him still. It's like being immobilized by a machine.

Tony is pulled forward smoothly. The cock forces its way past his tonsils, into the back of his throat, and _down_ , somewhere into Tony's esophagus, all in one fluid, unstoppable motion.

Steve's pubic bone bruises Tony's lips when it hits, and then the fucking starts. Tony is gagging and coughing around the sudden intrusion, his eyes are filling with water. But Steve just rabbits in and out, never taking the cock out of his throat completely. A few rapid, forceful motions, and then he's holding Tony in place, convulsing inside his throat, and all Tony can do is try to breathe, try to swallow. His nostrils are full of alpha pheromones and his head is dizzy and he doesn't care.

He's so excited he could cum in an instant, just from being manhandled this way. Somewhere, he knows he shouldn't be, but he just is. He grabs his own cock for the first time since all this began. Sharp, burning pain is a rude awakening. The pills haven't kicked in? What the hell?

Tony loses the moment. His throat is making retching movements as Steve pulls out, but he breathes and doesn't throw up. It's just that his chin is all slimy and he can feel cum leaking out of a corner of his mouth. Nothing too bad, though.

Rogers pats him on the head awkwardly, and _that's_ beyond humiliating.

"Sorry," he rasps, but sounds genuine enough. "Couldn't help it."

Tony shrugs defiantly. He doesn't wipe the tears from his eyes. Still on his knees, he gathers cum and slime with his forefinger. Deliberately, never looking away from Rogers' face, he stuffs the finger into his mouth and starts sucking.

Rogers growls.

And then it hits Tony again. The pain? The pills? That never happened before. No, impossible, he must have griped himself harder than he thought. Maybe the angle was weird. Yes, that must be it.

* * *

Stark's face drenched in cum, he keeps sucking on his forefinger, slowly pushing it into his mouth, then pulling it out. He's lewd and vulgar and Steve wants to throw him on the ground and fuck it out of him repeatedly. The beautiful thing is, nothing's stopping him, and Stark seems interested enough.

He tells Stark to strip and motions for him to sprawl on the bed. Steve is going to prep him nicely and by the time Steve is finished, Stark will be begging to be fucked and Steve will be perfectly happy to oblige.

Steve runs his hands over the omega's body. It's a beautiful body, made to be enjoyed. No excessive fat and round softness that's so popular. It's all taut muscle, just the way Steve likes it. He doesn't remember seeing a handsomer omega, or maybe it's just that his nostrils are filled with that omega smell that is making him lose his mind.

Tony is hard, but when Steve takes hold of his dick, Tony jerks and yelps in surprise. 

" _Ow!_ Was that really hard or am I just weirdly sensitive today?"

Steve is suddenly very irritated. So, that was it. Stark tried to lull him, and now he's making his play for the painkillers.

"Quit the drama," Steve tells him sternly. This has to stop at once.

"No, you don't get it," Stark tries. "I think there's something wrong."

Steve pushes him back down and holds his midriff pinned to the bed. He begins jerking him off.

Stark's face contorts in pain, his knees jerk up as if to protect himself. His hand flies to his mouth in an attempt to muffle a cry. He's nothing if not a good actor, but addicts so often are, Steve thinks. He's writhing, trying to push Steve's hand away. His other palm is now stuffed into his mouth and Stark is biting at the meaty part, trying to keep the cries down.

There is something deeply erotic about the sight, even though it's an act. Excitement is pooling low in Steve's stomach already. 

Steve realizes the two painkillers Stark got are probably not enough for him by now, and he probably is in a certain amount of pain, but nothing that dramatic. He's obviously exaggerating excessively. Still, Steve is not rough with him. In a few measured, rather careful strokes, there's a distinct sheen of precum on the tip of Stark's cock.

"There you go," Steve says admonishingly and lets go of him. "You obviously enjoyed it. You can't tell me it was that bad."

Stark pulls himself up against the pillows into a sitting position. He's flushed and panting. Obviously quite an expert at working himself into a tizzy. It's coming, Steve thinks. He's going to ask now.

"I think I'm going to need another pill," Tony says. "I don't know what's wrong, it's never happened before, it's just..."

Steve needs to put a stop to this right this instant. He needs to show Stark this is not going to work on him. Rumlow was obviously right. It's about time someone took him in hand.

Steve gets into Stark's face. "This behavior stops right now, omega," he says sternly. "I'm going to punish you, but I won't be harsh. This is, however, not to be repeated."

"Wait," Stark says desperately. Steve doesn't let him finish. He takes hold of the omega's body and manhandles him over his lap. Stark is struggling frantically. When the first smack lands on his ass, however, he stills.

"Oh, that," he says derisively. "I can take _that_."

Steve would call the first slap practically considerate. Nearly gentle. But at this comment, he changes his mind. This is not erotic play. This is meant to teach a lesson. His next smack is far less restrained.

He finds a rhythm and deals a blow after blow. Stark's behind gets pinkish, and then red, and Steve wants to squeeze and bite, but that's for later. His cock is hard with need underneath Tony.

Stark has grabbed a pillow and stuffed his face into it to muffle the cries after the third or fourth slap. Stark is proud, and Steve can't help but like him for it. When his body starts shaking with what must be sobs, Steve stops the beating.

"There, you're done," he says gently, rubbing soothing circles into Stark's back, even though what he really wants to do is toss him on the bed, pull those angry red cheeks apart and just force his cock into his hole right now.

Rip him open, he thinks, but tries not to think it.

Shove his face into that pillow and fuck him raw, he thinks, but he pushes the thoughts away. 

"Do you want some water?" Steve asks.

"No, but thank you so much, you're a champ," Stark says, heavy with sarcasm.

"I'm going to work you open now," Steve informs him. He sees Stark tense. "It will hurt, I know." He tries to make his voice soothing, but it's all he can do to hide his own excitement. Why now? He asks himself. He never was a big fan of pain. Or... well, maybe somewhat. If the other person liked it too. But maybe that's it. Maybe it's what Rumlow said, about how much Stark actually likes to be hurt. Brock wasn't Steve's favorite person, but he was right about other things regarding Stark. And besides, Steve could feel Stark's rock hard cock strain and buck against his thigh with every blow. That must be it, he thinks. That, and the mixture of scents emanating from Stark, pain and fear and lust. It's affecting Steve's brain.

He wonders if Stark could come just from being spanked until he's purple. He wonders if Stark would get off on kneeling and having his face slapped. But there will be time for experimentation and talks later, when Stark is over this farce with the painkillers. 

"No shit," Stark tells him. Steve wants to deal him another smack, just for the insolence. He reaches under him, instead cupping his balls and rubbing the underside with his thumb. Gently but relentlessly. Stark gasps at the touch and starts squirming.

"No," Steve says firmly and squeezes the balls a little. Stark stills instantly, so Steve lets up, but continues with the rubbing. "Listen, Stark, I know things are going to be a bit more painful then what you are used to. I want you to accept it. Breathe through it. You know it will get better eventually. I'm not going to be deliberately rough with you. But I'll tell you what's not going to happen. You're not going to... mewl." Steve hates himself for using Rumlow's word, but it seems so appropriate. "Because it's not going to work on me and because I think you're better than that. You are not going to ask for more painkillers or try to trick me into giving you some. It's not going to happen. It will just make me angry. So. I'm going to work you open now. Brace yourself and try to relax."

* * *

For many omegas, pain is very close to pleasure. Or at least the end results are often one and the same: orgasm. And orgasm is, by it's nature, pleasurable, but what leads up to it doesn't have to be. Sometimes it's really hard to tell the difference. 

Some think omegas are simply wired this way, but Tony believes it's more about conditioning. From the early age you are trained to accept a measure of pain. Anything touching your genitals is pain. Hell, even tight underwear hurts. The pain gets worse as you grow up, and it peaks at the age when you enter your first heat. It stays that way for the rest of your life. Before that, it's not considered necessary to get pain suppressants.

Before that, if you want to jerk off, like every teenager does, you learn to work with pain, around pain and through pain. 

Besides, Tony thinks, it's hard to resist alpha pheromones in the air. Rogers is emitting them like whoa. And on top of all that, after the way his cock felt, like a raw nerve squeezed in Rogers' hand, tugged and molested, the spanking is almost a relief. It's just regular pain. Tony even enjoys it up to a point.

Why does it all hurt? Is this a part of a bonding ritual no one tells you about? Because otherwise you'd never say yes? 

They should have waited for the heat, with the bonding. It's bound in about two weeks, anyway. The time was getting short, however, and Tony was afraid of having his company seized.

Rogers is a sadist, that much is obvious. Tony can smell his excitement. Each time Tony squirms or tries to pull away, he hears Rogers' breathing quicken. Each time Tony muffles a cry of pain, Rogers growls low in his throat. 

He's clearly going to painfuck Tony now, and Tony is shit scared. But what's even more scary is the fact that this will be his life from now on. If Rogers really denies him the access to the pain suppressants, it's going to be like this every time Rogers gets a hard-on. 

Shoved on the bed and hurt until Rogers' satisfaction. Sounds horrible. So why is Tony positively leaking precum at the thought? Why is his cock throbbing at the idea of being grabbed and made to suffer again?

Still sprawled over Rogers' lap, Tony feels his cheeks parted and cold lube trickling onto his hole. Rogers starts massaging the rim. He's not deliberately cruel, as far as Tony can tell, but after just a few strokes, the anus turns into a red hot pint of pain and he can't think of anything else.

And then a finger slips in. It's all Tony can do not to grovel and beg for Rogers to stop. He bites his fingers and keeps silent. You're better than that, he hears Rogers' words again, and he hates that the stupid manipulation is working.

Also, there is a tingling feeling hidden somewhere inside the pain, not exactly pleasure, but an itch, a need. A need for the finger to part his walls wider, to probe deeper, inflict more agony and maybe turn that tingling into something more substantial.

It feels like the finger is buried deep into a livid bruise, and it's only one finger. And Tony somehow needs to feel more.

Tony's never been painfucked before. He's experimented with lowering his suppressant dose, like everyone does at least once. He's tried some impact play, and spanking is always nice. He even let Rumlow talk him into going through a heat without the painkillers, and letting Rumlow fuck him through it, but with heat is different. Wonders of biology and all that. In heat, the pain actually really feels good. Still, either Rumlow was too rough or it wasn't for Tony, because he decided never to repeat that experience.

The finger burning his way into his ass like a hot iron poker is about million times worse. Rogers is twisting and turning it methodically. Feels like a drill in there, and Tony isn't sure he can stand it, and he wants it.

Next, Rogers curls the fingers and finds Tony's prostate. The spike of pleasure amidst all the pain is bliss and salvation. It's the only thing to cling to or else he'd go insane. He thinks he's bucking back against Rogers' finger and he doesn't care. 

"There you go, it's not all bad, is it," Rogers croons at him. Tony can't tell if this is some twisted game or does he really think he's being kind.

But then, after a few more spikes of pleasure, Rogers forces another finger in. He starts fucking Tony with them. Sawing in and out mercilessly. He's changing angles, hitting all the wrong spots. It feels like he's scratching the inside of Tony's rectum with talons, although Tony is pretty sure that would feel much worse. He starts scissoring and unscissoring his fingers and Tony Howls. Only occasionally he brushes against Tony's prostate, but whenever he does, Tony is tricked into thinking it's all worth it.

Tony can control his cries of anguish, or at least bite into the pillow, but screams of pleasure are harder to hold back, because pleasure hits so suddenly every time. A wave of white-hot relief shooting through his whole body. It's more intense than anything Tony's ever felt. Maybe it's just the contrast with the excruciating torture, he thinks, or maybe the asshole alphas have been right all along and pain suppressants do dilute that as well. 

"Stop squirming," Rogers tells him. Tony would laugh if only he wasn't crying so hard.  
Tony gives in to the pain because there is nothing else he can do. He rides it. He gasps and sobs and even the throbbing of his cock is agony now, because he can't even tell if having it touched or not is worse. He's got the pillow all wet with his tears and his spit, but he shivers in anticipation of the next spike of golden pleasure, whenever Rogers deigns to give it. He can plot his revenge later, if he lives through this night. No one ever died from fucking, Howard would probably tell him now.

He tries to keep still, but at the next gut-wrenching twist of Roger's fingers inside him, he can't help it. He thrashes.

And then Rogers grabs him by the balls and holds him there. He doesn't even squeeze, but it feels like Tony's balls are being stepped on. 

"Please," he whispers into the pillow. "I wont move. Just let go. Let go."

Miracle of miracles, Rogers does. "Shhh," he whispers and curls his fingers again, titillating Tony's prostate. "You're okay. You're going to be okay."

* * *

Rogers is as gentle as is possible under the circumstances, but Stark's show is getting a bit too much. At first it was annoying. Now it's awakening Steve's most animalistic impulses, his darkest appetites. He fingerfucks him relentlessly, and each time Stark spasms around his fingers, each time he tries to bury his cries into the soggy pillow, Steve is a little closer to jumping on him and burying himself in Starks ass.

He wants to get rough, more than ever. He wants to hold Stark down and fuck him really hard, to stab him with his cock, to impale him on it and to make him come on his knot. He doesn't know any more if Starks throes of pain are for real or if they are still for show. Because what his nose is telling him is both pleasure and misery, hurt and insane arousal. If it's a show, it's a _damn good_ show, though. If it isn't... Steve is going to feel horribly guilty tomorrow, but at the moment that's just elusive.

Somewhere in the process, his mind gets hazy.

After a time, Stark seems stretched enough. Steve can't find his words any more. He tosses Stark from his lap onto the bed, flat on his stomach. Then he's upon him, pinning him down with his knees and his left forearm. His right hand is massaging his own dick, aiming it at Stark's hole.

His cock is burning metal, Stark's ass is cold water. He plunges in. Then again. And again. And again.

The screams escalate. 

Stark is trying to crawl away, but Steve holds him there. He stops for a moment and gathers his thoughts. He forces himself to go gentler, changing the angle slightly, raising Stark's ass higher into the air.

When he finds Stark's prostate, the omega emits a low keen and the sudden assault of pleasurable pheromones from him nearly make Steve lose his mind. He holds onto his sanity as tightly as he can. If there's one thing he can hold clear in his mind, it's to try and hit the prostate on every stroke, drag his cock over it, grab Stark's dick and stroke it. He's not sure if he's doing it for Stark or just in order to smell those sweet omega pheromones again, the ones that speak of pleasure as well as immeasurable pain.

He grabs Stark by the hair and pulls his head back so that his face isn't buried into the sheets. "That's right, Stark," Steve hears himself snarl. "Scream for me. _Scream for me_. And he keeps hitting his prostate over and over again.

Stark screams.

* * *

In his own apartment, headphones on his head, Brock Rumlow comes violently all over his hand.

* * *

Suffering and passion are one. Tony is riding wave after wave. All thoughts disappear from his head, and all he knows is the horrible, black pleasure spiking in his ass as Rogers beats his intestines into a pulp with his cock.

When Rogers pulls out, Tony whimpers in protest at the sudden emptiness, but then realizes Rogers is rolling him over onto his back. He's back in, hammering into Tony's ass in an instant. It's all new angles for punching in the gut, new flavors of agony that get Tony even higher. He can't scream any more. Rogers grabs Tony's cock and pumps it aggressively. Tony is crying and begging him to stop, but when he does, Tony is begging for more. He's not aware what words spew from his mouth. He just knows he's so close, so very close, but there is no relief and the sensations keep spiking until he overloads and can't take any more.

And then Steve's cock in his ass starts expanding. At first it presses against the prostate just right, but it keeps growing. It is squishing the prostate to the point of complete agony. It rearranges his inner organs, he thinks. It hits all the special nerve endings that nothing else but an alpha's knot can ever hit. It's not fair at all, because something that hurts to the point of blackout shouldn't be allowed to feel that good.

It's much easier when this happens in heat. If they weren't bonding, it couldn't be happening at all. The pleasure is unbearable. Orgasms are supposed to last for a few seconds, and there is a reason for it. Human brain cannot process all this. It's good that it keeps rushing through him, because he'd go insane with pain otherwise. Rogers pulls him up to his chest and holds him and stokes his back, spewing some comforting nonsense. And Tony shakes and shakes violently as a wave after wave hits and washes through him until he forgets who he is or where he is, all he knows is the big, torturous knot in his gut.

This goes on for almost twenty minutes, and he's left incoherent.

He comes to and becomes aware Rogers is cleaning him up with a warm, soft towel. His cock hurts at the touch, but Tony doesn't think any pain can compare to what he's been through. It's laughable.

Afterwards, Rogers lies down next to him, starts to rub circles into his back, all soft noises and stupid apologies and gentle touches. Tony wants to roll away, but has no energy.

"I told you it wasn't going to be that bad," Rogers says, and Tony wants to laugh. "You enjoyed it in the end, didn't you? You begged me to go harder. You said you didn't want it to end."

Tony might as well have said something like that. He has no idea.

He finds the strength to turn around and glare into his face. The worst thing is, he did enjoy it. He's been held down and put through agony and been forced to get off on it. It was the most horribly experience and at the same time the best fuck he's ever had, and he thinks he could get addicted to it. He also thinks he'll never want to do it again in his life.

"Just... stop touching me," he tells Rogers bitterly. "Just fucking stop touching me, will you."

He turns around and falls asleep.

* * *

Steve doesn't.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony is in heat, and Steve decides to teach him a lesson. Pretty much everything that happens here is somewhere between dubcon and noncon. It's not _not_ abuse. Note the new tags.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I managed to write 3k words of intro before I got to the porn. If you are here just for the porn, feel free to scroll down for about one third of the story.

Tony wakes up at 1 p.m. to find the bed thankfully empty. There's a note waiting for him on the bedside table, together with a flower and a soft toy of some kind. He shreds the flower meticulously, in the garbage disposal unit in the sink. He reads the note and tosses it in the garbage. _Called in for a mission_ , it reads. _Will probably be back tomorrow afternoon. Take a day off, get some rest, I'll call you later._

Tony's insides feel bruised and tender from last night. Each time he moves, each time he tries to sit down, he has a lovely reminder of how badly Rogers' tender ministrations actually hurt. The pretend-normal tone of the note makes his stomach turn.

He jumps into his convertible and drives to NY as fast as he can get away with. The wind in his face and the constant ache in his ass are making him semi-hard, so _that_ hurts now too. He's used to ignoring pain, though. What's worse is that it makes him run through last night in detail. How Rogers hurt him to tears and beat him and fucked him brutally; how Tony had asked for more, through his sobs; how agonizing an alpha's knot is, if you're not in heat, and how he'd practically blacked out from the intensity of the orgasm. Twenty fucking minutes. No normal alpha can keep a knot going for that long. No wonder Tony feels so wrecked.

It makes him sick, to remember. It also makes him fully hard. He'll have to take a cold shower once he gets to the tower, because no way is he touching his sore cock today, no matter how much he might want to get off.

The fluffy toy is staring at him from the passenger's seat with it's creepy plastic eyes. It's a floppy eared, anatomically incorrect rabbit. Tony has done many unspeakable things in his life, with many men and women, but rarely has anything made him feel so filthy as receiving this rabbit as a gift. It's infantilizing and therefore extra perverted. As he searched the apartment for omega pain killers – in vain – he wondered idly if Rogers ran to the store to get the toy before the mission or if he had it bought in advance. He still can't stop thinking about that. He can't decide which option would be worse.

He takes a walk through the NY streets, with a vague idea to give the toy to a random kid, but he'd probably just end up looking like a sicko. In the end he leaves it by the dumpster and walks away quickly.

It takes him hours to recognize the growing unease for what it is. The missing. How charming. Wonders of a new bond and all that. Stuff of romance novels, really. Media are full of sentimental bullshit, but Tony knows what it is: simple body chemistry. It's just how a new bond works. Darwin and all that shit. Preservation of the species. He wants to throw up. Well, Tony is sterile, anyway, so fuck you, biology.

Still, the uneasy, empty feeling in his belly grows more intense with the passing hours. His body wants its alpha close by, this soon after bonding (fuck you, body). He's hard and distracted throughout the day, and he wants, wants, wants Rogers' hands on him, wants Rogers' cock inside him, and he wants to kick himself in the balls for it.

He's so distracted that he can't work. He goes to the bathroom and pulls his cock out. Instant relief, as soon as it's not straining against his fly any longer. The cold shower helped for about five minutes, and then it was back to this. The constant ache of physical longing for his bondmate. Intrusive images from last night. Tony wonders what he looked like, sprawled on Rogers' bed, bowling into the pillow, sobbing his heart out. What he sounded like, screaming, as Rogers held him down and pushed into his helpless body. He strokes his thumb and forefinger down his shaft, a lightest of touches. He shivers.

It eases both the pain and the craving, but he's not going to come that way. He couldn't handle a full hand job right now, though, so he teases himself for as long as he can, remembering last night in vivid detail. Remembering how it felt, concentrating on the burning deep in his ass. When he's close, he reaches for his old fantasies instead, but this time instead of a faceless alpha or some random hunk from S. H. I. E. L. D. it's Rogers. Rogers barging into Tony's office, slapping him hard across the face. Rogers, choking Tony with his belt as he bends him over the desk. Holding him down (Christ, his _strength_!), with Tony's cock painfully crushed between his body and the wood. The edge of the desk digging into Tony's balls as Rogers forces his cock into Tony's sore ass with no prep, and splits it in two, all in one violent go.

Tony strokes himself a few times, roughly – it hurts, God, it hurts – and comes like a hurricane. He can breathe a little easier now. Still, he can't shake the thought his fantasies may not be so different from his future life now. Which is... probably not completely fair. He doesn't know any longer. The stupid hormones are clouding his mind. He goes back to his office and listens to Rogers' message,. Tony let his call go to voice mail, earlier in the day. The message is painfully awkward, but it's an attempt at normalcy.

Tony stays in his apartment in the Tower that night, rolling over in the empty bed and hating biology with a passion.

* * *

 

Steve's mind is not on the field, so he gives the command over to Rumlow for the duration of the mission. Everyone chuckles about newly-bondeds, about _what's on Cap's mind right now, what do you think._ It's friendly teasing, but to him it seems like an intrusion.

He can't stop thinking about Tony. How beautiful he was, last night, and how defiant to the end. He can't stop thinking about _himself_ either, and how much it turned him on seeing Tony in pain, having complete control, making Tony enjoy it despite the hurting. What does that say about himself? He has no one to talk to about that. He considers confiding in Rumlow, even, but it's a fleeting thought. _I had him a few times_ , Rumlow said. _He gets off on pain._ Maybe Rumlow could tell him something useful, but he doesn't want to think about Rumlow's hands on Tony because  it makes him want to strangle the colleague on the spot.

Tony liked it too, he tells himself firmly. In the end he did. If he wasn't addicted to the pain suppressants, it would all go much smoother, but they'll manage either way. Steve would help him. If that requires tough love, so be it.

When he gets back to the apartment, tomorrow afternoon, Tony is still not there. He didn't answer Steve's call, but he did text eventually. There is his scent lingering still in the apartment. Steve must be heavily attuned to him if he can smell it. It makes him itch to take Tony in his arms, to feel his body move under his own. He wants him. He wants him so badly.

Alphas also have drugs of their own. They are, vulgarly, called rut suppressants, and the purpose is to curb sexual urges of unbonded alphas that, without intercourse, spike every few days or so. They are generally very convenient, insomuch that they stop you from itching to fuck everything that moves. His modified formula works well with the serum too.

He's been on the meds for years, rather than look for casual arrangements, but right now the suppressants are not exactly working so well. It must be the intensity of a new bond. They weren't made to curb _that_ , surely.

Whenever Steve starts thinking about Tony, he can't keep his hands off his own dick. With nothing to distract him since coming home, he jerks off four times in a row. He feels guilty for doing it to the memories of Tony sobbing under him, though. To distract himself, Steve looks around the apartment. He sees Tony has been through all the cupboards and drawers, no doubt looking for his meds. That's the exact reason Steve took them with him when he went away. He also notices the fluffy toy he bought for Tony is gone. Good. He was so nervous about that, it seemed too silly for a genius engineer, but Steve wanted to do something sweet... But if Tony took it with him, maybe that means he's starting to accept Steve?

He pulls a photo from Tony's file. It's the only one he has. He stares at it. His chest aches and his dick twitches. It's not love, of course not. Not even infatuation. He doesn't _know_ Tony for real, except a little, from work. And yet, it's not simple lust either. Bonds are complicated like that.

At least he's finally feeling something – anything – for someone from this century.

He could swear he can feel Tony getting closer. The bond intensifies, Steve's body heats up. The sound of the key in the door makes breath burn in his lungs, and practically without wanting to, he's going to meet him at the door. Sweet lord, he's going to _see_ Tony and he wants to roar with the wanting.

Tony stares at him with big round eyes, dark with lust, his lips parted. He's breathing hard too. Steve wants to take him in his arms. No, what Steve actually _wants_ is to push him against the wall so that he can't move, his whole body pressed against him. He wants to rip his clothes off and leave hot teeth marks all over his body. He wants... But he stands back, curling and uncurling his fists, trying to control his urges. He waits for Tony to come to him, because of last night, because he doesn't want to be _that_ kind of alpha, because Tony shouldn't feel he'll be instantly ravished each time he walks through what's supposed to be his own apartment door now, because...

Tony's hands are on him, then, and this is where Steve's self control goes to hell. He squeezes and presses, he paws at clothes to get a feeling of skin under his palms. Tony is glaring at him, but he's kissing back frantically as Steve nips and bites at his lips. Tony's hands are under Steve's shirt, raking down Steve's back.

Steve pushes him against the wall. "I want you," Steve practically growls because his throat is so tight, his voice so hoarse. "I want you, Tony, I _need_ you, I..."

"Yes, yes," Tony breathes, but then he stops dead and pushes at Steve's chest, trying to gain some distance. "No," he says, and he repeats, more emphatically, " _no_."

Steve blinks and moves back a fraction. "No?" Tony still can't get his hands off Steve, that much is obvious. He can't decide if he wants to push him away or pull him closer.

"No," Tony repeats, fighting for breath. "I want my suppressants first."

Of course. For him, this hurts. In the heat of the moment, Steve almost forgot. He wants to smack himself for it. If last night was the way it was for Tony, even _with_ the suppressants, he can barely imagine what it would be like without. Even though an animalistic part of him might find the idea intriguing – _very_ intriguing – he wouldn't actually _do_ that to him. He can give Tony two pills, a normal dose. It's not going to be enough, but Tony will just have to get used to it until his body gets cleaned up and the medicine is back to working the way it's supposed to. Steve is about to say so, but Tony is quicker.

"I want my pain suppressants," Tony repeats, louder, as if Steve hasn't heard him the first time. "I want my heat suppressants too, Rogers. I want to be in control in my own prescriptions. You had no business transferring them to yourself."

It takes so little for lust to turn to anger. It's not like that for Steve usually, but he's been sore with lust for Tony for two days. And now Tony is trying to use it against him, just to get to the drugs, that's... Steve could slap him, but of course he doesn't, even though many would doubtlessly think it the right course of action. _Not that kind of alpha_ , he reminds himself firmly. He forces himself to feign calm.

"That is not going to happen," he tells Tony. Despite his efforts he still sounds majorly pissed. "That is _never_ going to happen. You better get used to it."

"Oh, it's not going to happen, is it?" Tony retorts, glaring at him, sounding at least as pissed as Steve. "In that case, this is not going to happen either, the _sex_ is not going to happen. So _you'd_ better get used to _that_."

Steve clenches his fists again, and Tony stares down at Steve's hands and gives him a defiant look that can only be interpreted as _you just go ahead_.

"You're telling me no?" Steve asks, his voice dangerous, because this attempt at blackmail is too much.

"Could I be any clearer?" Tony answers, eyes blazing.

Anger is churning in Steve's belly. The worst thing is, it was obvious Tony wanted it too, wanted _him_. A bond doesn't always take this well, people have to work for it. Theirs did. They could be good together, or, if not that, they could at least have some good _times_ together. And now Tony is throwing all that away so that he could get to his pills? Infuriating. He wants to step towards Tony, but, with a giant effort of will, he doesn't. Tony obviously sees something in his face, though.

"Look, I'm not naive," Tony says, with some resignation and a lot of bitterness in his voice. He's leaning against the wall, arms crossed. "You can take what you want right now, and tomorrow, and every day from now on. I could do nothing about it. No one would think it out of the ordinary. No court would ever be on my side in this. But, you know what, Rogers, if that's what you decided to do... it's on you. For my part – for whatever it's worth – I'm saying no."

Steve looks at him for a long time. Tony stares right back. "I'm not going to touch you," Steve says curtly and goes and locks himself in the bathroom.

He jerks of furiously to the fantasies of dragging Tony to the bedroom by his hair, kicking and screaming. Tossing him over the bed, tearing his clothes while he struggles. Grabbing a belt and whipping his ass until it's bright and angry, whipping his way up and down his back, up and down his thighs, his legs, and then his ass again, in case he's forgotten what it feels like. Of taking him brutally, then, pressing and rubbing himself against the welts crisscrossing his body. Forcing his way in again and again and again, for as long as he can hold out. Of punishing his insides as well as his outsides.

Him, in pain. It's like a drug.

Steve comes violently, and then he throws up into the toilet.

Real Tony wouldn't lie there, unmoving, as Steve beat him, he thinks. Real Tony would probably fly at him, fists raised.

He waits for Tony to stop moving around the apartment. He puts the dinner in the fridge, uneaten. He slips into the bed beside Tony. Staying close to his edge, his back to the omega, he can't sleep, he can't sleep, he can't sleep again, and he wishes he's never woken up from the ice. Again.

* * *

 

The following two weeks are torment. Rogers is often away on missions. Tony thinks he probably volunteers for everything, just to get away. Tony spends as much time as possible in NY, but the bond inevitably pulls him back. Rogers never says anything about him staying nights in his penthouse. Overall he, weirdly, doesn't make an attempt to take control of Tony's life. Just the pills. Nothing else at all.

Instead, the alpha throws his energy into cooking, when he's home. Into cleaning. Another thing he apparently doesn't expect Tony to do, thank god. It's almost like he's not an alpha at all. Only, he smells like an alpha, _all the time,_ even when he's not there. He emits his alpha-ness with every move of his powerful body. Tony can feel how very alpha he is, through the bond. It tugs at every cell in Tony's body, the constant, unbearable urge to be by his side, to give himself to him, to be available for the taking.

Rogers doesn't try to force him into sex, although at least two or three times a day things get so heated that Tony thinks he will. Sometimes he _almost_ wishes Rogers would, so that Tony wouldn't have to fight the biology any longer.

It's what Tony privately calls 'the house of failing boners'.

When they are both there, they are permanently hard. They step around each other in silence, never touching. Yet, Tony can feel the alpha watching him. Feels the blue eyes roaming over his body, constantly and lewdly. Hot, possessive, analyzing. Undressing him. Boring into his ass. Fucking him mentally, every moment of every day. Every time Tony turns his back to Rogers, he expects to feel a hot hand on the back of his neck, pushing him on the floor. Holding him down.

Tony watches him too. His powerful chest. The way the muscles of his arm ripple casually as he stirs food on the stove. His ever-hard cock, straining, tenting the fabric of his pants whenever Tony is around. That cock could bring Tony so much pleasure, so much pain. He wants it hurting his ass again. He keeps that to himself, though, but he can't stop staring at the alpha's hard-on that never goes away.

Tony thinks he might come from just a casual touch. But they never touch. A touch would be disastrous. Instead, Rogers asks if Tony's eaten. If he's slept. Tells him there's dinner. It's their only conversation, excepting the miserable texts they exchange when they are apart for a long time and can't stay away because bonds suck that way. _Are you all right? Yeah. How are you doing? Fine._

So apparently, Rogers doesn't want to take over _Stark Industries_ , doesn't want anything to do with Tony's money, or any kind of control over Tony's life. He just wants to take care of him. And to fuck him in a very painful manner, or not at all.

Ten times a day Tony considers just giving in and ending the constant misery. _Fuck me, take me, destroy me._ The words are on the tip of his tongue, constantly, when Rogers is around. He doesn't say them. He doesn't.

His body wants him to.

* * *

 

Tony plans to spend his heat in NY. He doesn't have his heat suppressants and he is not going to ask Rogers for them. He is not going to ask Rogers for _anything else_ , either.

His heats are intense. H's let certain alphas do pretty unspeakable things to him, just to alleviate the burning inside him during that one night, rather than take suppressants. He likes it.

He finds his old sex toys and prepares to spend a highly uncomfortable night in the penthouse. Alone.

The call of the bond, however, is so strong, so irresistible that evening, that he jumps into his car and speeds back to Washington. He doesn't take his sex toys with him. That's it, he can't take it any longer. Tomorrow, he'll fight again. Tonight, the bond wins.

It will hurt so good, he tells himself as he races up the stairs.

The seat of his pants is soaking through already. The blazing itch in his ass brings tears to his eyes. He imagines he can smell Steve already as he pushes the key into the lock with a frantic hand. He's never needed anyone this much in his whole life.

But when he gets in, Steve is not at home.

Tony tosses his clothes to the floor. Against his skin they feel as if they've been soaked in acid.

He's on the bed, pushing two, pushing three fingers into his ass again and again, and it does absolutely nothing , just makes him need _more._ Desperately trying to fuck himself, he weeps in frustration.

* * *

 

When Steve steps into the apartment, the smell of omega in heat hits him like a hammer. His hands shaking, he fumbles for his meds. He pops four rut suppressants and sits on the floor by the door, waiting for them to kick in. It's a double dose. Should work for a time.

He doesn't dare move yet. He knew this day was coming and he has a plan. It's just a mild punishment he has in mind, really. Tony has taken things too far. The last two weeks were torture for both of them, and they were unnecessary. They seemed like an eternity, and were definitely plenty of time for Tony's body to wean off the omega pain meds. The drug is mild, not very addictive, but Tony is still playing his game. He's stubborn. Steve won't touch him if he says no – although it's getting almost impossible to resist the urges – but Steve is going to teach him a lesson.

He picks some rope on the way to the bedroom.

The smell gets progressively stronger, the closer he gets. His cock is rock hard and his muscles are bunching in anticipation, but thanks to the meds, he keeps his head as he opens the door.

He finds Tony curled on the bed, naked. His skin is shiny with sweat. He has three fingers up his ass, his slick dripping onto his hand, on the sheets, forlornly leaking down his ass cheek. Weakly, he's fucking himself onto his fingers. It seems he's been at it for a time and he's exhausted.

His back is to the door when Steve enters, but Tony hears him. "Steve," he gasps. "Oh, thank god."

Steve almost loses it right at that moment.

"What do you need?" he asks instead, not moving one inch from the door.

"Crap, just come here. Just fuck me," Tony whispers.

That's all Steve needs. He's by the bed in an instant, rolling Tony onto his back, straightening his unresisting body. Expertly, he grabs one of his hands and ties it to the bedpost, and then he does the same with the other. It's done in seconds.

"It's not like I'm going to resist now," Tony says weakly, but Steve ignores him. He ties both of his legs to the bedposts at the foot of the bed, so that Tony is spreadeagled on the bed.

Steve ghosts his hands over Tony's nipples, dark and swollen, filled with blood. A violent shiver goes  through Tony's body. His cock is leaking onto his stomach. His thighs are wet with the slick out of his ass. Tony is straining in his bonds, writhing, desperate for more. Steve runs his hands slowly down his torso. Touches his legs, avoiding his cock and balls, no matter how Tony strains towards the touch. He tickles Toy's inner thighs with his fingertips, making Tony gasp suddenly, wetly.

"Just _fuck me_ ," he repeats, more insistently, more querulously.

Steve pinches both his nipples lightly, just for a second. He bends low, to Tony's ear. "Later. _Maybe_ ," he whispers, and goes to take a slow, cold shower.

* * *

 

He comes back twenty minutes later, to find Tony in a state of desperate dishevelment. Even the little relief he had from his own fingers is now absent. His hair is plastered to his forehead. There are tears in the corners of his eyes. He's struggling in his bonds, now bucking his body, now trying to rub his ass onto the sheets in desperation. Steve squeezes his own cock through the towel, wathcing this beautiful, beautiful sight for a moment. Then he lets the tower slip to the floor and walks to the bed.

"Hey, omega."

The only response he gets from Tony is a low, throaty moan and more jerking against the ropes.

Steve doesn't touch anything apart from Tony's nipples. He circles the areolas with his fingertips, a barest touch. Then he bends down and licks one nub with just the tip of his tongue. He teases it so lightly that the contact is barely there. But he doesn't stop. Tony relaxes into the touch at first, grateful. It's clearly not enough, though. The omega pushes his chest up and moans for more. It's obvious to Steve he's used to getting what he wants, but his pleasure is not the goal here, not right now. Each time Tony tries to get more friction, more sensation, Steve pulls back. He doesn't allow for more contact than a scantest brush of lips against the nipple, the barest flicker of tongue.

He watches Tony's desperation build, but thanks to the rut suppressants, he himself can stay detached and do what he planned.

When omega is in heat, all his erogenous zones are on fire. Tony's nipple is swelling as if Steve has been pinching and twisting it. Tony's breathing is raspy, loud.

After good five minutes of the tantalizing game, Steve shifts to the other nipple, repeating the process from the beginning.

"What are you doing?" Tony whimpers. "You don't have to. I'm _so ready_ already. Just fuck me, dammit. I'm ready, okay?"

"I'm not," Steve says calmly and gets back to work.

He dedicates good twenty minutes to the teasing, watching Tony's nipples grow sorer and puffier with every light touch of his tongue. The effect is practically the same as if Steve has been hurting them. Some say omegas in heat don't feel pain. The others – omegas themselves, mostly – say they do, but it sometimes feels so good it's hard to tell it from pleasure. Supposedly, it's both more intense and more satisfying than a tender treatment.

Steve doesn't want it to be satisfying, for Tony. Steve wants to drive him crazy.

"Please," Tony is whispering. He sounds broken already, and Steve has barely touched him. "Please, harder, I can't do this, _harder_."

Only when the first desperate tear slips from Tony's eye, Steve is ready to move to the next stage.

He intensifies his efforts slowly, gradually. First, it's just the raspier part of his tongue against the very tips of Tony's nubbins. The way Tony bucks and gasps, one would think it was a wood file. Then he lets his fingers join the game. Every gentle tweak or roll has Tony crying out, chest heaving. His nipples are puffy, swollen, and so, so dark. They must be immensely sore already, nerve endings like raw meat. Just from teasing.

The first time Steve pinches in earnest, Tony lurches up with a sharp cry. The ropes keep him in place.

Steve proceeds to pinch and twist, not brutally hard, but methodically and incessantly. Tony's eyes are squeezed shut, tears chasing one another down his temples. More tears of frustrated lust, Steve thinks, than pain.

"Hurt me," Tony wheezes. "Shit, Rogers, break me, do whatever you want, just fuck me already."

"Tell me what you need, omega," Steve says again.

"I need _you_ ," Tony pants, "I need you in my ass, I need you to split it apart, while I'm helpless like this, I need you to destroy me, I need you to wreck me, I need you to ruin my ass with your knot forever."

This is all Steve was going for. Tie Tony up and tease him until he's out of his mind, until he's begging and pleading and crying to be fucked. Then Steve would roll him onto his belly and give him a good, hard, educational screwing that Tony would remember for a long time.

Now he doesn't want that. Or, a part of him does, a part of him keeps ravishing Tony in his mind. But the rut suppressants are still working well, and the sight of Tony, this hot and desperate, gives him a dark satisfaction he never dreamed about. A just punishment, for everything. This is not pain, it's not brutality, but it _is_ torture, and Steve wants to prolong it just a bit more.

"Fine, I'll fuck you" he says quietly, and lets Tony relax for a second. "But first I want to hurt you nipples some more. I want to make you come from just that."

Tony shudders at his words. "Yesss," he whispers. "Ruin my tits. Just let me come. Please."

Steve is vaguely aware his own cock is leaking. He ignores the feeling studiously, ignores the potent omega smells that permeate the room. Thanks to the big dose of the suppressants, he still can. They won't work forever, and when they stop, he'll be upon Tony like a wild animal.

For now, he continues his slow torment. The way Tony's body twitches, his chest heaves at every touch, one would think Steve's fingers on his nipples are vices, that his nails and teeth are knives, as he scrapes them roughly around the nubbins, then over them. He pinches and twists and flicks until Tony is emitting open-mouthed sobs, and then he gets an idea.

He gets up for a moment and brings his toiletry kit.

* * *

 

When Steve starts working Tony's nipple with his toothbrush, at first it feels like a relief from the pinching. The nipple is sore, throbbing. In Tony's mind they are both huge, hot points of pain, big as melons, big as continents. Every throb goes right to his cock, making it jerk and twitch. Tony feels his own pulse within it. His cock feels neglected, and the nipples just add up to the frustration, but what's really driving him crazy is that deep, unbearable feeling inside his ass that's been building and building ever since the heat started. The urge to have something in there, to shove something big in and make it hurt, because that's the only relief, that's the only way to alleviate the sticky, plastered-together feeling inside, the need to have it split open by his alpha.

 _That's_ what he needs. And the way to that is to come from the nipple torture, torture that is pleasure, torture that is pure agony. The toothbrush feels like a relief at first, a relief and also a disappointment, because Steve's vice-like pinches were so much more intense, sending lightning bolts through his nervous system.

Still, Steve rubs and rubs, and the discomfort from the toothbrush grows, turning into acute soreness on Tony's raw skin. And Steve doesn't stop, he rubs and rubs. Soon, Tony is squirming away, then seriously trying to get his chest away, because the abrasive feeling is becoming intolerable. It feels like Steve is scrubbing him with a wire brush for cleaning rust. It's like Steve is going to scrape his nipple right off.

"Stop, stop, stop, hurts, _hurts_ ," Tony wails.

The first touch to his cock this whole night comes from vice-like fingers around it's root. The sudden, terrible pinch on his nipple feels like something cold, hard is crushing it. The pain shoots right through Tony, right to something deep inside him that finally gives in. The surge of pleasure is terrible, and it's a world away. The fingers around the root of his cock squeeze ruthlessly and push the flood right back where it came from.

"You fucking bastard!" Tony screams as he realizes Steve ruined it for him on purpose.

"Language," Steve says in mildly admonishing tones. When Tony opens his eyes, though, he sees Rogers is red in the face and panting, staring at him with pupils blown wide.

As the abortive little spasms of orgasm that didn't happen die away, Tony becomes aware of the crushing agony in his nipple. It's not going away, and it's making his whole body shiver helplessly. He guesses what it is even before he looks down. And it hurts _so_ hard and _so_ good he almost whites out.

Rogers is not going to let him come. That much is becoming clear. But by this point Tony's tits are suffering so exquisitely, so excruciatingly that it feels nearly like an never ending orgasm in itself. He almost doesn't care about anything else. Fucking Rogers, he thinks. Fucking heat, skewing both his sense and his senses.

"Clothespins?" he forces through his teeth, because he can't _not_ mouth off, because he needs to make sure he's still _himself._ "How... domestic... of you."

Whistling through his teeth, Steve starts his patient work with the toothbrush on Tony's other nipple.

* * *

 

By the time he ruins Tony's second orgasm, exactly like he did the first one, Steve is shivering with dark pleasure.

First he waits for Tony to start bucking and jerking, in futile attempts to get away from the even, relentless motions of the toothbrush. Steve is eating his nipples with his eyes, so puffy and painful-looking he wants to hurt them even worse. He also wants to soothe them with his tongue afterwards, to take care of them and make them better, but that's for later. When Tony is crying out under the toothbrush in helpless, open-mouthed gasps, Steve grabs the second clothespin and quickly attaches it to the free nipple. He squeezes the root of Tony's cock again, feeling it jerk satisfyingly in his hand. Not a drop escapes this time either. Tony is going to have to work harder for his pleasure.

"Fuck you!" Tony yells through frustrated tears. "Fuck _me._ You promised! God, Rogers, _why_?"

Steve almost takes pity on him. If he rolled him over now and took possession of his ass, if he fucked him long and hard, Tony would learn his lesson. And Steve wants to, desperately, wants to feel the omega's velvety insides wrapped around his dick, but what he wants even more is _this_. This torment. Tony, crucified on the bed, suffering deprival from what he kept denying both himself and Steve for weeks.

Steve doesn't want to hurt him for real, but he wants to watch him suffer more, and he wants that harder than anything else.

"Why?" Tony repeats miserably.

Because you deserve it, Steve wants to say. Because you had it coming. Because you need to be taught a lesson. But what's closer to the truth is: because I like it. Because I _can_.

He gets close in Tony's face. "Because you're mine," he growls.

"I am, I _am_ ," Tony gasps. "Just fuck me. Just for a little while. Then you can hurt me again," he bargains in desperation,  "do whatever you want. But fuck me, knot me, I can't take this any longer!"

He's going to take it for a bit longer, Steve decides as he starts untying Tony's legs from the bedposts,

"Thank you," Tony chokes out while Steve is retying them to the bedposts at the head of the bed, where his hands are tied, so that Tony is doubled over in an uncomfortable position, his ass very much spread wide and available. "Thank you, thank you, thank you."

Tony's hole is wet and dilated. Soft and shivery. Inviting. Steve could push his cock in right now, just once, just the head. To feel the moist tenderness under him, around him. To pound it into a pulp until it looks just as puffy and swollen as Tony's nipples, he thinks, and holds back.

When he takes the first lick at Tony's rim, the omega pheromones are so overpowering he has to run to the bathroom and pop two more pills, or else he'd take him right there. And he _could_. Just like Tony said, Steve could fuck him now, then go on tormenting him afterwards. The night is young. Still, with every moment he is left to suffer, Tony is getting softer, more pliant. More eager to please.

"Stretch it wide with your fingers," Tony whispers tempting offers to Steve as Steve licks and teases the rim with tantalizing slowness. "Good lord, Steve. Stick both your forefingers in and pull it right open! It will _hurt so bad_ , like you're ripping me apart. Just let me feel something in there, please, _please._ "

"I said I'll fuck you after you come," Steve says patiently into the crack of Tony's ass. Tony shudders at the airflow. "You haven't come yet, far as I can see."

"Not fair," Tony wails. He is, of course, very right. It was never meant to be fair, either.

Steve licks him, painstakingly slow, until Tony is a wet, shuddery mess under him, until he stops talking, stops bargaining. He just sobs quietly, desperate with heat-induced need. There is a huge wet spot under his ass. He's leaking all over and to Steve it smells like heaven, but the rut suppressants allow him to enjoy it from a distance, almost esthetically.

"You're a work of art," he tells his quivery omega as he removes the clothespins from his nipples. Tony yells sharply with all new, all different pain there, as the blood rushes back into the nubbins. "You're beautiful, you're perfect," Steve coos at him and soothes the nipples with light flickers of his tongue. "You should be like this always."

Tony is completely pliant. It seems like he's given up. And this is what Steve wanted, right, to make him submit, and then fuck him raw? But somehow it's not enough for Steve, somehow Steve wants to squeeze out something more out of him.

"I need you to wake up now," he tells Tony. "So that's what I'm going to do. Wake you up."

"Are you going to knot me?" Tony whispers.

"No," Steve says firmly. "I'm going to punish you. I'm going to spank you very hard, Tony." He shudders in anticipation at his own words. And Tony shudders as if he's attuned to him. "For trying to blackmail me. For everything."

He's vaguely aware he's slowly losing control. He can feel his animal side take over, but he _wants_ to see the omega's flesh shiver and redden from the punishment, and he is unable to stop himself. He doesn't want to stop himself.

"I can use just my hand, but in that case you stay like this, all tied up on your back. Or you can take it on your own feet, but in that case it's going to be the belt."

Tony raises his head at this. He stares at Steve with wide eyes. He seems to be rolling the words over in his head. "On my own feet," he says at last. "Also, fuck you." He seems a bit more alert, though. "You're a fucking bastard, Rogers."

"Get up, omega," he tells Tony after he unties him. He can see how wobbly Tony is on his feet, so he helps him over. His animalistic side feels something akin to a savage, fierce pride that this defiant, tiny omega is his own, that he finds the strength to get up even after all this, that he picked the harsher punishment  just so that he could take it on his feet. He positions Tony in front of the dresser, placing Tony's hands on the top and making him lean on them for support. He adjusts the position of Tony's ass so that it's sticking out. "Like that, good," he says and kisses Tony softly on the back of his neck, caressing his back soothingly.

Tony pushes into the touch hungrily and whispers, "Do your worst."

* * *

 

Every inch of Tony's skin is crawling with fire and his mind is muddled with heat. The first crack of the belt cuts through all that. It brings him back to his senses, centers him. It hurts, yes, but it's not all bad. After the second blow, he thinks: It's not bad at all, it's _good_ , because it's one sharp-hewn, clear thing to cling to in the fog of desperate overstimulation. The pain of the third blow is biting and bright, stronger. It makes Tony suck in a shuddery breath. It also touches something deeper inside him. As if the nerve endings of his butt resonate directly with nerve endings deep inside Tony's asshole.

"Jesus fucking Christ," Tony swears through his teeth as his insides shiver and shudder with near-satisfaction, near-fulfillment. It's not enough, but it's better than anything Tony's got that night.

His knees are watery, barely able to hold him up. He leans forward, towards the dresser, more and more. With every crack of the belt, his legs threaten to give way. Tony wonders if Steve would go on with the beating after Tony crumples to the carpet. Tony is afraid Steve would stop, so he does his best to keep his feet.

The seventh whack hits like a hurricane. It rocks him forward violently, and the head of Tony's rock-hard cock smacks dead right into the dresser. He howls. The pain is sudden and incredible. It shoots up his cock like a bullet. If he weren't in heat, he'd be rolling on the floor, doubled over, perhaps throwing up, without the pain suppressants. But he _is_ in heat, and instead the pain spears through him, right to his prostate. Even though there are hot tears in his eyes, Tony almost comes on the spot.

"Enough?" stupid Rogers asks stupidly, and now Tony has to look for his words to answer, and he was so close, so close.

"More," Tony grits through his teeth.

Next time the belt lands on the sore flesh of his backside, Tony lets it rock him forward on purpose. He lets his cock thwack against the wood, not caring how much it hurts. Combined with the stinging, bruising burn of the leather on his ass, it rolls him closer to the possibility of a screaming orgasm. Then it happens again.

"That's enough." Behind him, Steve's voice sounds gravelly. In his own trance of pain, Tony has nearly forgotten all about him. "You want to fuck the dresser?"  Rogers goes on, letting the belt fall to the floor. "Go ahead, fuck it. Fuck it harder."

Without thinking, Tony steps closer to the piece of furniture, grabbing his cock, rubbing the head brutally against the hard wood.

"Hands on the dresser," Steve commands sharply. Tony's hands follow the harsh voice of their own volition. Ineffectually, he humps against the wood, and god, it hurts, and it's still not enough.

"Wait."

* * *

 

The omega's cock is red and swollen. Tony rubbing it against the dresser, sobbing and panting, is probably the most erotic sight Steve has ever observed.

"Wait," Steve commands. He opens the top drawer perhaps two inches. " _Now_ fuck it. Put your cock inside the drawer and fuck it."

The words must be cutting through Tony's heat daze. " _No_ ," Tony says, slurring but emphatic. For a moment, Steve thinks it's Tony's pride. He thinks this is too much for the omega to take, even in this state. He weavers between forcing him into it somehow (his animal side snarls at him to do it) and just letting him refuse, because some things are probably too much. Steve isn't so far gone as not to realize that.

"You just want to slam the drawer shut on my cock," Tony accuses him. "You just want to..."

" _No_." Steve is horrified. He wouldn't harm the omega for real. Hurt yes, harm no. Everything in his nature is repulsed at the thought. He's an alpha, his protective instincts are strong. Yet, why would Tony trust him? He has no reason to. "No, I just..." Steve struggles to find words, because he's so far gone. He grabs a pair of folded socks, wedges them into the drawer so that it can't close. "I just want to watch you fuck it." He runs a gentle hand over Tony's cock. It's angry red and hot to the touch. It _looks_ like it hurts all over. "Fuck the drawer Tony," he repeats softly. "If you can come from it, I'm not going to stop you."

Tony's whimper is somewhere in the vicinity of 'all right then'.

Tony pushes his cock in, grating it against the wood with a sharp hiss through his teeth. The opening is just wide enough for him to fit in, just narrow enough to be uncomfortable. Steve keeps a protective hand on the pair of socks keeping the drawer open, so that they don't fall out.

Tony pulls out, and with a crazy determination, shoves his sore dick back in. His face contorts in pain as he does that. Steve can't stop watching him scrape his tender flesh against the sharp edges.

"Feels good?" Steve rasps.

"Hurts like hell."

"Does it feel good?" Steve asks again, more forcefully, running a palm over Tony's bruising ass.

" _Yes_ ," Tony replies as he scrapes his cock against the wood with a wet sob. " _Yes!_ "

Tony is leaning on his elbows against the top of the dresser, bent over it, as he fucks into the narrow opening. He's bent over, and his ass sticks out each time he pulls out all the way to the head of his cock. His butt muscles contort tightly, crazily as he shoves it back in. It's red and beautiful and Steve can't take it any longer.

Never letting go of the socks so that the drawer doesn't close, Steve moves to stand behind him. Grabbing his own cock in his other hand, he runs the head up and down Tony's crack. It's dripping wet, it's piping hot. His head catches against Tony's entrance, dilated and inviting. Tony lets out a throaty, wordless groan and tries to fuck back, to suck in Steve's cock into his hungry hole.

All Steve wants is to slam home, to grind Tony into the dresser, but he pulls back. Tony whimpers in purest frustration. "Knot me!" he whines, and this is all Steve ever wanted, to hear him beg like this. "Knot me, fuck me, please, please, _please_. Make me fuck myself on your cock as I fuck the dresser, please, Steve, Jesus fuck, it burns inside, I need you, I can't take this!"

"Don't stop fucking the drawer," Steve growls into his ear, and Tony complies, still whispering softest pleas. Steve runs his cock up and down his crack, titillating, tormenting them both. When Tony seems right on the edge, weeping breathlessly, it's time. While he shoves his cock into the drawer, Steve pushes in – just a little, just the head, spreading the soft, wet entrance. It's like silk around him. Steve doesn't let himself enjoy it for more than a second or two.

Tony comes with a loud cry, trying to push back onto Steve's cock, but Steve is already out. He pulls Tony away from the dresser. Tony is completely limp in his arms, and Steve lowers him to the floor gently, to shake and whimper there until he gets better. He himself goes and sits on the edge of the bed, squeezing his cock roughly with one hand.

"Why won't you knot me?" Tony moans quietly from the floor after he calms down. "I need you. Why won't you knot me?" He sounds miserable, utterly pathetic. Something in Steve responds with tender sympathy, he wants to go to his omega, pick him up, put him on the bed. And yes, fuck him into the mattress then, rough as he can, not as if Tony would object. But the darkness in him seems particularly close to the surface tonight. Maybe it's due to the huge dose of the rut suppressants he's taken, but the alpha instincts in him are overruled by what he now calls his sadistic side. He loves seeing Tony in a heap on the floor. He loves hearing him beg. He wants to give him a good fucking, yes, but also wants to, _needs_ to have some more of this. Break him down to pieces, obliterate him completely.

"Crawl to me," he says softly.

Tony raises his head, gives him a far more rational look than Steve would have expected from him in that state. "Are you going to knot me, now?"

"Soon," Steve promises, and he means it, but he also has something else in mind first. He wants all of Tony's holes, to claim them tonight, make them his. He knows, once he's in Tony's ass all the way, the instincts are going to take over and it will be just plain old fucking till the end of the night. And he remembers how good Tony's throat felt, squeezed around him, and he wants that again, just for a minute or two, before he finally gives in to the more animalistic urges.

Tony starts crawling on all fours, and he's beautiful.

"Not like that," Steve says, snaps. "On your stomach." Because he's even more beautiful in that completely submissive position and because Steve craves to hear hisses of pain as Tony's sore cock drags against the carpet. Tony's pain doesn't disappoint.

"Your mouth," Steve orders once Tony is on the floor at his feet, right where he belongs. Wordlessly, Tony struggles to his knees and complies. Still, Steve doesn't want a sucking off. He takes hold of Tony's unresisting head and pulls him onto his cock all the way. He's in Tony's throat, he feels it spasming and constricting about him, and it's all he's ever wanted. Never moving one inch himself, he starts pulling Tony's face on and off his cock, all the way down to his balls, using his mouth as a fleshlight. Tony still doesn't struggle, he just kneels there limply, and submits.

Steve is not in a hurry, so he uses his throat slowly, thoroughly. Just half a minute longer, he keeps telling himself. Just one more gagging spasm, just... He has trouble forming words even in the privacy of his head, but at one point he notices Tony squeezing and tugging his own cock. Steve catches hold of his hand, removes it. It's not that he doesn't want Tony to have another orgasm, but Tony's orgasms are Steve's to decide about, his to grant or deny, and not Tony's. And this one he's denying him just because he can. Tony moans in protest, around his cock, and it feels so amazing it pushes Steve over the edge.

His orgasm was so slow in building, his cock hard for so long, that he doesn't just fall over the edge and flood Tony's mouth with come. No, it's as if he strolls to orgasm slowly, languidly, aware of every spasm of his inner muscles. His knot grows in Tony's mouth, pushing his jaw wider and wider open. His mouth forced into an uncomfortable O shape, Tony tries to pull off while he still can, but Steve holds his head in place.

Detatchedly, he watches him struggle as he pumps spurt after spurt of come down Tony's esophagus. He can feel the convulsive swallowing around his dick, and it feels like a million dollars.

"Stop struggling and breathe," he orders so calmly that he surprises even himself. He's collected, rational. He watches Tony like a hawk for any sign of real choking. In that case he could pull him off his knot. Wouldn't be a pleasant experience for either of them, but it wouldn't break Tony's jaw either or anything grisly like that. Basically, an alpha's knot will typically expand as much as it has the room to do it. Alpha's nature is like that, designed not to damage an omega for real,no matter if he's in his ass or his mouth.

Tony kneels there, trapped with Steve's knot crowding his mouth. Tears are running down his face freely, but he's not gagging any longer. He just takes what Steve has to pump out and breathes, breathes around him. He knows well how to breath around a cock in his throat, Steve thinks. He wonders how many he's had in there, how much come he's swallowed in his life, and it elicits another huge hot spurt of jizz that makes Tony's eyes grow even wider.

And then, his brain probably overwhelmed by the copious amount of alpha's pheromones, there, right at the source, Tony's body starts convulsing. It takes Steve a second to realize the omega is having another orgasm. It shakes the whole of Tony's body once, forcefully. He can't even ejaculate so soon after the last one, probably. It can't be pleasant. He hangs there even more limp, barely balancing on his knees. Steve strokes his hair idly, adoring him from afar.

The knot goes down after a short time, five minutes perhaps. It's nothing compared to Steve's usual twenty, but it's probably due to the six rut suppressants.

With nothing to hold him up, Tony slides to the floor like a piece of wet cloth. He's done for, for tonight. All used up. Steve scoops him gently into his arms and lays him down on the bed. Tony makes a small, grateful noise in the back of his doubtlessly very sore throat.

It takes Steve four or five minutes to get another erection. He runs soft hands over Tony's unresisting body. Touching, claiming every inch of skin. He plays with Tony's soft, little cock, pulling at the foreskin, squeezing his balls. It hurts, no doubt, but he wants to do it nevertheless, because he can, because this is his omega. He's not rough, but he does what he needs to do to get himself up.

Then he turns unprotesting Tony onto his belly. He puts a pillow under him so that his ass is sticking up nicely. Then finally, finally he shoves his dick into Tony's slack, drenched hole, and it feels like coming home.

"It's too late now," Tony whimpers from under him. "It's all too much now. Now I can't."

Steve fucks him hard, but not wildly or brutally. He's just had an orgasm, so he can be methodical about it, and not frantic. As the stimulation continues ruthlessly, the soft membranes fill with blood, and Tony tightens around him. Steve feels his cock stabbing into the tightening velvety folds. Tony's insides caress him as he pounds them mercilessly, over and over again, because he can, because that's what he's here for.

Steve doesn't notice when the instincts take over, when he goes wild, pawing at Tony's back, pistoning into him, changing angles to accompaniment of Tony's quiet sobs. Tony comes with a broken shout somewhere along the way. He can't not. This was what his body is designed for, to be filled in heat, and no matter how used up he may be, when his alpha's cock is in him, finally quenching the heat, he can't _not_ come. Steve is aware of all this only vaguely, and very, very nonverbally.

Steve fucks him. He isn't sure how long this goes on, but it's long. The light of dawn is sneaking in through the windows when abruptly, violently he knots and starts coming deep into Tony's bruised asshole. With a long, piercing scream, Tony is coming again, because that's what knots are for, because no omega can _not_ come when he's being knotted. His lithe body shakes forcefully in a horrible, neverending orgasm, as Steve starts coming back to his senses. He pulls Tony up, flush against him, onto his lap. He strokes the omega's cock that has already gone soft even though there's nothing left there. Tony sobs and tries to wriggle away – it must be excruciating, being touched there after so many orgasms were forced out of him. His ineffective wriggling pulls at Steve's knot and brings him even more searing pleasure. He starts pinching and twisting Tony's nipples again with his other hand, managing to force a few more painful orgasmic shudders from Tony, just in order to make him his, to ruin him for everyone else, forever.

After his knot goes down, he scoops Tony close to his body, as close as humanly possible, and prepares to go to sleep. Tony burrows into his side, trying to nestle himself even closer. The omega has no more caustic comments at this time, it seems. Steve doubts he could remember his own name any more, it's been fucked out of him so thoroughly, but he lets himself be held, and that's quite enough for now.

 


End file.
